


every ribbon you used to tie yourself to me

by Loz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 22:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11930301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: Scott isn’t proud of how possessive he can be, but he’s learned to accept it.





	every ribbon you used to tie yourself to me

Scott isn’t proud of how possessive he can be, but he’s learned to accept it. He and Stiles have been stumbling around this newfound sexual element to their relationship together and he can’t deny every time he claims a first, it makes his blood pump slow and thick, pounding in his veins and capillaries. 

The first time they kiss. The first time they share the same bed with their heads on the pillows rather than top and tailing it like sleepovers of the past. The first time he watches Stiles’ o-face, Stiles’ come cooling rapidly on his hand. They’re a collection he’s going to store away forever, kept in a special vault only he can access. 

Stiles is blotchy pink and pale beneath him, back arched and head resting on his forearms. He’s already a little sex drunk, Scott still tasting lube and latex on his tongue, still feeling the phantom weight of Stiles’ cock, the gentle push of it along his palate. 

Stiles shivers as Scott rubs his thumb against his hole, slick not doing much yet to loosen him up. And Scott knows Stiles has fingered himself before, he whispered it against Scott’s ear twice within the last week, admitted he always imagined it was Scott. But this is the first time another person has given Stiles this sort of pleasure, and maybe it’s the anticipation, or maybe he knows how much Scott lives for making something his own, but Stiles feels tight, untouched.

Scott slides his palm over Stiles’ spine as he begins to work in concentric circles, dipping into Stiles whenever he feels any give. He pushes into the dip of his lower back and chokes back a groan as Stiles widens his stance, bending because he knows he won’t break in Scott’s capable embrace.

“Feel okay?” Scott asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles whines back, and God, the tone of his voice has Scott so hard he’s agonized, desperate to feel Stiles from the inside with more than the pads of his fingers and thumb. 

He loves how vocal Stiles always is, the little sounds he makes to tell Scott that he wants and needs this, low or high or breathy or devoid of anything other than guttural grunts – they drive Scott into a near frenzy, uncharacteristically brash and careless.

Stiles is opening up for him here like he does with words – not at all, not even a little, and suddenly all at once. He’s stretched tight around Scott’s fingers, rim kissing Scott’s knuckles. Nearly loose enough, Scott thinks. Close. 

Stiles has loved other people and Scott’s made his peace with that, but the deep, desperate satisfaction that he’s the person Stiles will remember when he’s recalling this in his catalog of number one sexual experiences squirms in his gut.

Stiles is rocking back into the deep pushes of Scott’s fingers, not seeming to mind that there’s no rhythm, only jagged bursts of activity, because Scott’s mesmerized and prone to stopping and staring. Stiles angles around to glance back at Scott and that’s what brings Scott out of his reverie; the almost black of Stiles’ eyes, irises a thin sliver of brightness around inky pupils, the deep red of his lips, so much plusher because he’s been biting down and they’ve swollen. Stiles is panting, his hair’s plastered to his head, and he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in this moment, contorted awkwardly to peer at Scott.

“I’m ready for you,” Stiles says, though Scott thinks it might be the fifth option he’s cycled through as a response, that he was originally going to remonstrate and demand, but then witnessed Scott’s expression and changed tack. 

“You really think so?” Scott checks, and it’s not over-confidence, it’s a kindness. 

Stiles adjusts again to flick a glance at Scott’s dick, hard and thick and pulsing with the need to be surrounded by Stiles’ heat already.

“Maybe just the tip. To begin with,” Stiles says. 

Scott didn’t think he could get any redder, but he does, _he does_ , the blush settled into the hollows of his cheeks alongside his moles like a watercolor wash.

Scott adds another squirt of lube, concentrates on putting on the condom and slicking himself up so this doesn’t finish before it can start. He brackets Stiles’ hip with one hand as he guides himself to his hole with the other, jaw clenched and chest feeling constricted by an iron band as he watches the press of his cock. Stiles’ rim kisses the tip of his cock with little pulses, muscles contracting and relaxing like the beat of a heart. It feels like heaven and Scott can’t help but urge the tip of his cock in deeper, stroking his palm over Stiles’ trembling leg. 

“How is it?”

“Even bigger than it looks, holy mother of God,” Stiles says, voice cracking into vibrato as Scott draws out. “That was a compliment,” Stiles adds frantically, “I wasn’t telling you to stop.”

“I’m not,” Scott promises, bending over Stiles’ back and placing a soft kiss. He edges in again, lost in the sensation of Stiles’ silky inner walls. The different angle means an easier slide and Scott takes advantage of it, getting into a steady rut that’s almost good enough. Almost.

Stiles whimpers with it, but it sounds equally as happy as it does pained, throaty sobs interspersed with laughter. 

“You think you can take more?” Scott asks when he’s had to close his eyes because the sight of Stiles beneath him has his own asshole twitching with how much he needs to come. 

Scott doesn’t want to think of it as him forcing himself deeper into Stiles, of him taking up space where he’s not wanted. Doesn’t want this to be an intrusion. But he can’t deny that he wants Stiles to feel this for days. Can’t pretend that he isn’t dry-mouthed because no one else has given Stiles this. He’s cored out a place for himself and he’s grateful in a way that shames him.

“I can,” Stiles intones after a deep, shaky breath. “I want you, Scotty. Deep as you can go.”

 _Fuck_ , Scott can’t deal with that thought right now, has to calm his fraying nerves and take this slow and steady. He has the thought of pressing his hand gently against Stiles’ abdomen and feeling himself on the inside and it’s obscene how tight every single one of his muscles get. He pulls out and thrusts in again, continues to do this with incremental gains, until he’s finally able to go balls deep. Focusing on that, on making sure he isn’t being too rough, is enough to keep his raging hormones at bay. 

Stiles calling out as he comes all over the comforter beneath them has the opposite effect. 

Scott never gets vicious, but his next few cants of his hips are determined. Stiles’ ass is spasming around his cock and Scott has tears in his eyes because he’s been needing release for going on an hour now. He yelps when he finally crests over the edge, rests his forehead at an angle against Stiles’ cool back, mouthing against salty sweat. Coming while surrounded by Stiles’ tight heat is devastating. Scott doesn’t know if he’ll ever recover.

Stiles twitches a little more and his hand lands on the crown of Scott’s head with a pat, a rub. 

“I might not ever move again,” Stiles murmurs, even as he collapses to lie flat against the bed, legs spread wide, and Scott slips out out him. Scott’s barely functioning as he slips off and ties up the condom, swallowing thickly as he watches the pink promise of Stiles’ hole pucker. 

“You’ve ruined me,” Stiles mumbles next, glancing up at Scott from beneath his lashes, and Scott can tell he knows exactly what those words do to Scott. His gaze is simultaneously fond and calculating. 

“I’ve made you _better_ ,” Scott counters, settling beside Stiles, a little sad Stiles is lying directly on the wet spot and Scott can’t paint his come onto his own skin.

“’Cause I’m able to perform a dazzling magical disappearing trick? Now you see the giant dick, now you don’t?”

“I meant happier,” Scott says with a twist of his lips, trying not to laugh at Stiles’ comically wiggling eyebrows.

Stiles’ expression softens and he leans in, kisses Scott with increasingly long kisses before he pulls away and says it’s true.

“Nothing makes me happier than being yours,” Stiles admits, nuzzling against Scott’s cheek. “And having you as my own.”


End file.
